A Diamond and a Tether
by infinite-repeat
Summary: "And Ben wishes he were taking a risk, something he couldn't solve with a calculator, somewhere downstate where the sun felt a little warmer and his head felt a little lighter." Ben's left Pawnee and Leslie behind, but neither are content apart.


Ben's back in Indianapolis.

He can't understand how many wrong turns he has made. And not while driving; he's driven back home from so many random, tiny towns all over this damn state that he could get there with his eyes shut at any time of the day. But in Pawnee.

He had thought about going for it, laying out all his cards on the table for her to pick up. But he hadn't. They stood together in the sun, smiling. She dragged him on carnival rides. He bought her a large cotton candy, and she'd even gripped his hand to thank him the very last night.

He'd been stuck; just like every other moment spent in her smile, he didn't know what to do but grin sheepishly back. And a week later, he packed up and was gone.

She never asked him to stay. He knows, now, that he'd been waiting for that all along.

It was stupid, really. They'd never really gone outside the boundaries of friendship. He was still the auditor, the bad guy, the black hat. And even though he had hoped, maybe even believed, that she truly cared for him... Well, he was still Ben, heartless budget slasher, and she was still Leslie, wonderful, optimistic _everything._

There was a moment, right as he was leaving Pawnee's City Hall for the last time, where he thought she was going to say something. She was lingering near her car, parked five down from his, with a weird look of hopelessness on her face. But when she noticed him, she snapped back into sunshine mode. She hugged him. He knew he held her too long, but it was the only time he'd be able to.

She looked him in the eye. She grinned, sadly. She got in her car and left.

Part of him is still back in that parking lot; probably any semblance of optimism he'd built up while in Pawnee. The rest of him, the Mean Ben - that part's back here, slumped on his couch with a six pack, aimlessly channel surfing on a Friday night.

He feels like shit. He looks at his cell phone.

She hasn't called. But then again, neither has he.

;;;

Walking into work without him there is weird.

It shouldn't be, because she did it for years and years before she even knew he existed. Before he barged into town, took away their funds, and helped her save her own department.

She nearly goes to his office to give him the news that she'll be able to throw the festival again next year, when she has to stop herself. He isn't there. He won't be there again. It's time to truck forward.

She's not sure why she feels so thrown off-balance. She remembers fighting with Ben, getting angry at Ben, threatening Ben. But then she remembers smiling, a _lot_, and an awkward, fumbling guy who was just trying to defend his character after making some mistakes in the past. She remembers gripping his hand, like she wanted him to say something, anything besides his bashful shrug.

She doesn't know what she was waiting for, she just knows that she didn't quite get it.

Tom throws a crumpled up post-it at her head, and when she looks up, he gestures curiosity. She'd been zoning out, just thinking, but doesn't feel like talking about it. So she shrugs, tries to smile, starts scribbling on a notepad.

Her phone vibrates, and she feels a little surge of hope, but it's just Ann. It's only ever Ann. Or her mother. Or Tom pranking her, but whatever, the point is that it's never him.

She wonders if maybe she should text him; it's been a few days, and not hearing anything from him just feels wrong. But she doesn't know what to say.

When she hugged him goodbye, she had really hoped it would let him know that she didn't want him to disappear. She didn't want him to leave forever, never to be heard from again. But she can tell the message didn't get through.

She considers that, maybe, she liked Ben a lot more than she'd realized. But her mind only hovers there a moment before pressing on, because she has matters to attend to, and maybe she can fill her usual lunch-with-Ben with some extra things to catch up on.

She worked so hard to save her job, this department. But it feels a little empty to move on without the guy who helped her do it.

;;;

Snerling was a pale imitation of Pawnee. The same small town mentality, the same self-importance. But the people were duller, uninvolved, less of a community.

The government employees let Ben and Chris swoop in, unchallenged, and that's when Ben realizes how much he hates his job. It shows him all the lifeless, hopeless government workers, stuck in jobs too small for their once ripe, full dreams, counting off the years til retirement. They remind him of himself, and he hates it.

But Leslie... God, she just made him feel things he hadn't felt since the idea for Ice Town popped into his brain, late at night while he stayed up reading comic books. She was the reason why people got into government, and what everyone lost or forgot after being buried under miles of red tape. She was everything Ben hadn't been looking for but suddenly wanted more than anything.

He's trying to be nicer, trying to smile more for her, even though she isn't there. But it's still hard to do that when he's gutting a town's budget, firing workers left and right, being cold shouldered at the local pub. It's harder to care when she isn't around, but he's trying, at least. That alone is more than he has done in years.

Their Parks deputy director is a jaded 40-something guy, more concerned with where he's going out to lunch every day than building parks for the kids of Snerling. Ben hesitates before running through his name with a red pen; this guy doesn't deserve his job.

Which Ben knows is a horrible reason to fire someone, but the numbers support him, and Ben remembers why he likes numbers in the first place. They're solid proof; you can argue an opinion, but you can't argue an equation. Two plus two is four every time.

It's dependable, though really, it's boring. And Ben wishes he were taking a risk, something he couldn't solve with a calculator, somewhere downstate where the sun felt a little warmer and his head felt a little lighter.

This is ridiculous. Really, it is. Which is why, in the middle of a meeting with the mayor of Snerling, Ben takes out his phone and opens a text. Chris is talking, so no one's paying attention to him anyway. His fingers linger over the buttons, struggling with what to write. But without thinking, he types out, "It feels really empty here."

Maybe it's too much, but it's as honest as he's ever gotten, and he hits send before he can second-guess himself.

He holds his breath, and doesn't release until later, when he's balancing the DMV budget and feels the buzz of his phone against his thigh.

Things are getting back on track, mostly. She's running the town forums, trying to throw herself back into her plans for Lot 48, trying to keep an eye on April and Andy, trying to be there for Ann. Everything's the same, only it really isn't, and some of the others seem to notice.

"Not that it's any of my business, but are you alright?" Ron asks her one afternoon, over a table of bacon and coffee at JJ's. They went out for lunch, just because it has been some time since they had; she's been so busy with the Festival and... well, Ben had been her meal partner for a while.

She's picking at her waffle, which is probably how he can tell she's off kilter. She just shrugs, lifting her fork to her mouth, but even the ratio of waffle to whipped cream doesn't feel quite right.

"Indiana's a small state," he says, looking at her. She meets his eyes briefly before looking away, pretending she doesn't know what he's talking about. They finish their meal in a comfortable silence; he knows something is up, but he isn't going to press the matter, and for that, she's grateful.

She's thought more about Ben since he left than she did while he was here. Not that she wasn't thinking about him, but being around him is different than having him linger in her thoughts. She wasn't as busy anymore, and now there's so much time to think and to notice that he isn't there. There's too much to consider and not enough to experience.

When they're talking back to Ron's car, her phone goes off in her purse. She pulls it out quickly, assuming it to be something trivial, but it's his name flashing up on the screen. She stops in her tracks, and Ron looks at her.

"Oh, uh, nothing," she says, waving him off. She's too flustered to even read it just yet. So she just plants on a smile and gets in the car next to Ron.

She doesn't read it until she's settled back behind her desk, positive that Tom is distracted by some YouTube video on Donna's computer out in the main office. And when she does, her lungs constrict, because it's unexpected and honest and simple and...

"We miss you guys," she types back, unsatisfied with it immediately. Her finger hovers over send, hoping he'll understand. Hoping he'll get it... but realizing that he hasn't so far. He hasn't gotten it at all.

She erases it, retypes. "I miss you." Hits send.

;;;

He's been staring at that text for an entire day, unsure how to respond. It's the most she's ever given him with words. He doesn't know how to digest it.

It turns out that Snerling isn't complicated. Their budget isn't as messy as Pawnee's; the town is smaller, a little better with their money - probably because there's nobody dreaming big behind the doors of City Hall. He, technically, doesn't have to stay here very long. There's nothing keeping him here but numbers and a sense of duty to Chris.

He's started thinking about going back to Indianapolis. Maybe actually living in his apartment for a while, hanging up more than one generic family photo on the wall. But he doesn't miss Indianapolis.

There's no one waiting for him to come back to Indianapolis.

It's only been a little over a week. He can't go back to Pawnee now. Not yet. Maybe later, when he's more removed from it, when he washes the last of the Snakehole Lounge spills off his linen plaids. When he stops wondering if Tom is creating a new scent, or if Ann still misses Chris. When he stops thinking about Leslie every time the sun gets in his eyes.

That much isn't happening any time soon - maybe it's time to wear his Ray Bans again. So he gives up, knows he'll stay in Snerling at least another few weeks, but finally responds to her text.

"Good luck with everything, Leslie."

It's been a month, now.

She didn't know how to respond to his "good luck." It felt more like a goodbye, a final one, and she's trying to close the chapter on that book. But the damn book keeps forcing itself back open.

She hasn't even talked much about him to Ann. Just mentioned it in passing, when Ann wonders why she's seemed a little gloomier than usual. But Leslie's good at being happy - she has to be strong for everyone else - and she finds it easy to laugh a lot. It gets lets noticeable on the outside, and Ann stops asking. But Leslie can tell she knows, anyway.

She's munching on a cookie while going over a report, when Tom comes striding into the office.

"Ben's in Indianapolis!" he announces to the whole department, and a few of them smile politely. "I might make my way up there to say hi - the clubs in the city are _dope_."

Leslie's heart is suddenly beating a little too fast; he's in Indianapolis. He's driving distance. He hadn't told her.

"How do you know?" she demands, sounding a little more desperate than she means to.

"I emailed him, wanted to see what's up. He's moving back there tomorrow."

"Oh, well, that's good for him."

She avoids everyone else the rest of the day, because she can feel their eyes on her. They're wondering, maybe even talking, but she doesn't want to deal with that. She needs to figure this out for herself.

It takes a few days, but she decides she's tired of sitting around and doing nothing about it.

;;;

His apartment's even more depressing than the last string of motel rooms he's been at. The furniture is second hand, some given to him by his parents, some left over from college. The walls are bare, the television doesn't have cable, the fridge is home to only three old water bottles and an expired jar of mustard.

When Tom reached out to him, he considered telling her. But what was she supposed to do - accept the fact that he'd basically been ignoring her for weeks, and suddenly want to see him again? Leslie deserves better than that. She deserves better than him. She'd be better off if he just stayed away.

He goes grocery shopping and comes back with more beer than substantial food, but he figures he'll be getting another assignment soon. Or maybe he'll just quit. He hasn't decided yet, but he knows he has no faith in numbers anymore. He just has nothing else to do.

He spends three nights falling asleep on his couch, once drunk and twice just bored. He's grown stubble he doesn't feel like shaving completely, like it changes him somehow. He mostly just looks like a douchebag, but whatever. He's Mean Ben. Maybe it fits him.

On the fourth day, he tacks up a flyer from the Harvest Festival on his wall. It's a lone splash of orange against the off-white backdrop of his bedroom, and it looks stupid but strangely hopeful and he decides to leave it. Every time he looks at it, he almost smiles.

It inspires him to get out of this funk, and he cleans everything. His apartment, his facial hair. He buys food. He quits his job. He doesn't worry about finding a new one just yet.

His fingers constantly hover over her number in his phone, but that's one thing he hasn't cleaned up yet. He still shouldn't.

But he plans on it. Eventually.

;;;

She's driving down the interstate like a madwoman, because she knows that the second she stops is the second she turns back around. She waited until the workday ended, because she was nothing if not an excellent employee, and now it's eight at night and she's speeding through Indianapolis like there's a fire lit under her ass.

She'd pulled some tricky things to get Ben's address. Messy calls to the state auditing offices, lots of fake accents that didn't quite carry through conversation, until she finally just blurted out, "I need to see him," and someone gave her his street and apartment number.

She's nervous. It's been five weeks, and she's basically ignored him. She wouldn't blame him for slamming the door in her face. Maybe that would be best, because she doesn't really have a plan for what she might tell him if he lets her in.

But then she thinks of how many times she didn't hear from him, how many times he said goodbye, and it's the same on both sides, and then she's a little angry. Maybe she's a lot angry. She's driving a little faster.

She's knocking on his door with enough force to break it down.

"Ben Wyatt, why haven't I heard from you in a month?" she demands, before she even gets a good look at him. And she loses her breath, because he looks kind of crazy. Still like Ben, but his eyes have dark circles underneath and his hair's kind of a gel-free mess. And he's gaping at her like he's just seen a ghost.

"Leslie? How-"

"Tom told me," she says quickly, shoving his shoulder a little as she lets herself inside. She faces him with her arms crossed, legs firmly planted, and she isn't going to back down. "You told Tom and not me. You emailed Tom but not me."

"I don't know what you want, Leslie-"

"I wanted to hear from you!" she tells him, a little too loudly. "You just left, and I don't know, it was weird! And it sucked, and I waited for you to call, and you never did until that text, and then-"

"You _wanted _to talk to me?"

;;;

He's just been blindsided by a blur of bright blonde hair and fury, and he can't wrap his mind around the fact that Leslie Knope is standing in his foyer, yelling at him.

"Of course I did, dumbass!" she shouts, and her face lets him know she immediately regrets her choice of words. He doesn't even know what to say; he can't stop looking at her, her curls messy, her cheeks flushed from being upset. He wasn't sure when he'd ever see her again, but she came to him, _she came to him_, and he still isn't saying what he needs to.

"I don't know what to tell you," he sighs, sitting down on his couch. "I thought you'd want to move on! I've been a jackass, and you don't need that."

"I just need Ben back," she says. But then she starts backtracking. "I mean, just, I wanted to know how you were. You know. You don't need to actually come back, you have a job. I just, I don't know. I miss you, Ben."

She's here. He's getting his second chance. He needs to stop fucking this up.

"I've been miserable since I left Pawnee," he admits, getting up. He starts pacing, a little, and she leans against the wall to listen. "It's been shit, because Snerling doesn't have a Leslie Knope. I've been all over this damn state, and nowhere else does either. No one else cares about anything. It's depressing, and it's bleak, and... and you aren't."

She's inching a little closer to him, but still looks apprehensive. She's still taking this in.

"You were everything I needed to remember why I wanted to be mayor when I was a kid. I didn't feel like I had to be _that _guy anymore - I didn't have to be Mean Ben." The corner of her mouth turns up, sadly. "I could build crazy festivals and make people happy, and... You taught me a lot."

And she's closer now, taking his hand in her own, looking up at him with big eyes.

"I miss you too," he says quietly. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to say it."

She takes his other hand too, guides them to her waist. He's barely breathing, because she's reaching up, pulling his face down to hers. She kisses him softly, and he doesn't rush it, because they have time. They suddenly have so much time ahead of them.

He tightens his fingers around her hips and brushes his tongue against her lips, and she's holding him closer, and he stops thinking. He's done enough of that to last him a lifetime. It's time to start living.

;;;

She doesn't really remember much about how she got where she is.

There had been a lot of stumbling, a lot of pulling at clothes and laughing because, god, she felt so much lighter now. And he was smiling like he hadn't smiled in months, nuzzling her neck, tickling her ribs lightly. And she just held him, hands slipping against skin, hugging him to her because she finally could.

And he looked at her like he always had. It was the same, even though it was different, which didn't make much sense but then she understood.

That weird feeling she'd had, of knowing but not knowing, it was all gone. She felt ridiculous, like she should have known a lot earlier, but she just runs her hands through his hair softly while he's asleep next to her.

She notices the Harvest Festival flyer on his wall and smiles. She likes knowing that he hasn't abandoned Pawnee completely; he still cares about it. And well, she doesn't know how they're going to work this out, but she hopes he'll come back. Eventually. He doesn't have to right away, but Pawnee suits him.

But now, she's content to curl closer into his side, pulling his plain linen sheets over her shoulder. It's late - or early, rather - and even though tomorrow is Saturday, she should get to sleep. She wants to spend time with him before she has to go back. She wants to figure this out.

She lets her head rest in the curve of his shoulder and falls back asleep.

;;;

He wakes up with a smile for the first time since the Harvest Festival. Her hair's in his face, and it makes him laugh, waking her up.

He isn't ready to see her eyes blink open in the early afternoon sun, because he knows that once he sees them, he'll do anything for her.

But he's okay with that; he feels hopeful again. He has direction.

;;;

They go out to brunch, walking to a nearby diner, hand in hand. It isn't JJ's, but Leslie approves after tentatively trying the waffles.

"It'll do," she says, giving him a lopsided smile. She can't really stop smiling at all.

She just flicks some whipped cream at his nose with a giggle; things are getting back to normal.


End file.
